


Displacement

by belantana



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-24
Updated: 2009-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belantana/pseuds/belantana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post 5.05 AU in which series 1 exists in parallel time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Displacement

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [@eljay](http://belantana.livejournal.com/30307.html). With thanks to londonsophie for the beta, and lost_spook for the prompt.

The third time Zaf asked Jo to move in with him, he decided to go with the truth.

"That thing about my cousin coming to stay? I sort of made it up. But I do still have a spare room, if you'd like it."

Jo hefted her box of belongings onto her other hip, staring at the numbers in the lift and willing them to go by faster. She managed a flustered smile. "Zaf, you're kind, really. But if it's this hard to move desks, I don't think I could handle my whole flat."

Zaf's persistence had been in accordance with her stalling, and she was relieved that he recognised she wasn't stalling this time. He eyed the files balancing on top of her box with apprehension. "Well, I never knew it was this hard to move desks until yours turned out to be bigger on the inside. Where did you hide all that _stuff?_ "

Jo pulled a face at him. The files angled dangerously. The lift dinged its arrival just in time.

After the Cotterdam incident, and the mysterious disappearances of Harry and Ruth, Section D had been scattered by the powers above. Ros went back across the river something of a hero for her part in Little Sister's embarrassing misfortune. Adam went to Tring. Malcolm dissolved into the honeycomb walls of Thames House, and Zaf and Jo found themselves displaced twelve metres vertically to the realm of Section B.

They stepped through the pods, boxes of desk-contents in their arms, and stopped. The grid was practically deserted. A few people were hunched in front of computers, but Jo wouldn't bet that they weren't asleep. Screensavers flickered and blanked.

"You would think they'd have warned us about the zombie apocalypse," Zaf whispered loudly.

Real apocalypses were still too recent for Jo to grace this with the response it deserved. She smiled shakily.

On the far side of the room, in the epicentre of a mess of files and surveillance archives, two people were arguing over coffee.

"Christ, Danny, you _know_ I have a ton of sugar in it when there's no milk. That's something you should be familiar with, seeing as there's never any bloody milk."

"And is it my fault you drink it by the pint at two in the morning and then leave the empty carton on the counter?"

"It's still your turn to buy – "

"Excuse us. Hi."

Two sets of narrowed eyes turned their way. Zaf, who during his time working with Adam had become used to pre-coffee irritability, tried his most winning smile. "Don't let us interrupt you, but if we could put this stuff down somewhere, that'd be great."

"Oh. Yes. Put it down – " the woman waved her hand airily – "anywhere. And you are – ?"

They deposited the boxes with relief on the nearest desk, squashing papers and something underneath with a crunching sound which Zaf deftly spoke over. "Zaf. Jo. Nice to meet you."

Jo had thought Ros rather good at raising an unimpressed eyebrow. This woman beat her hands down.

"We're from Section D," Jo elaborated.

"Oh! Right. Section D that is no more. Sorry, sorry. I'm Zoe. This is Danny. We had a late one last night and everyone else is – er – gone home."

Jo glanced around the grid, suddenly sympathetic to the few bleary-eyed stayers. Late nights were the first thing she had become expert in during her time in Section D. That, and who liked a ton of sugar in their coffee when there was no milk.

"We're supposed to have a briefing with – "

"Oh he's on a conference with the DG and all the other section heads. Won't be back for days if we're lucky. And you'd better stay out of his way when he gets back too, he's always ready to kill someone after those things. Tessa will give you a briefing when she's back from whatever mysterious errand she's running." Zoe paused. "Tessa doesn't sleep," she explained, unnecessarily.

"Why don't you get to go home too?" Jo asked, as Danny returned with the sugar and dumped it unceremoniously on Zoe's desk. She tossed him a sarcastic smile which would have withered lemons as she spooned it into her coffee.

"Someone has to mind the ship. And there's always work to do. Coffee's over there, by the way," she amended, indicating apologetically. "Help yourself."

Most of the work, it seemed, was on Zoe's desk. Jo was mildly interested to realise that she couldn't actually see the desk's surface, and even more amused to see the line which Danny had tried, and failed, to draw around his own workspace. Zaf began to unpack things from his box in the hope of finding somewhere to put them, which turned out to be optimistic.

"Jesus." Zoe nearly choked on her drink. "Is that a gun?"

Zaf followed her gaze through his piles of stuff. "Er, yes."

Zoe scooped it up hurriedly as if it were a porn mag. "Well, you can't just leave it lying about," she hissed. "Do you want us all to be arrested?"

Deciding a witty reply would be unwise, Zaf went with a contrite smile. "Sorry."

Zaf playing contrite was heartening to Jo. Since the disintegration of their section and Adam's enforced leave there had been far too many serious conversations between them. She had been glad, of course, that things were finally out in the open, but it had left them with the awkwardness that new closeness brings.

"We do things differently in Section D," she explained, sharing a meaningful look with Zaf.

Zoe glanced from one to the other, her eyebrows raised. "Yes you do," she said flatly. She gave the gun back to Zaf. "Hand it in to Tom. He'll probably be in in a few hours. He doesn't sleep either."

Danny had been pretending to work during this exchange, but Jo caught him smirking at his colleague's paranoia in the reflection of his computer screen. He quickly busied himself when she met his eye.

"Right." Zoe turned to Jo, attempting to regain some superiority. "How's your French?"

"Passable," said Jo, with surprise. Zoe handed her a stack of files.

"Great. Jed's is hopeless. These need cross-referencing."

"Don't you have a – ?"

"Computer program? Yes. But my asset copies files into an ancient word-processing program which doesn't recognise special characters, so the words are filled with strings of numbers and the computer chucks a wobbly. It's quicker by hand."

"Right."

"You should arrange for your asset to get a new computer," Zaf suggested.

"I filed for funding last month. It hasn't come through yet. Not a lot of room in the budget for spying on the French these days."

Jo was examining the files dubiously, but with a small amount of relief that this was something she could handle. "Where can I work?"

Zoe looked around the grid, as if there might be an empty desk which had escaped her notice before. Then she saw the clock and set down her coffee with a muttered curse. "I have to go," she said shortly. "I can't be expected to have all the answers around here. Do I look like a schoolteacher?"

"Of course not," Jo lied reflexively.

Zoe looked annoyed. "Is it the boots? I thought they were too much for a teacher's salary but I did pick them up at a charity shop..."

"Zoe, our new colleagues don't need to hear about your money problems."

"How's your glass house, Danny?" Zoe shot back without turning around, "because I've a pocket full of very pointy stones."

Danny scowled, then grinned sheepishly at Jo. He gave up all pretence of not listening in. "Ever get bad metaphors thrown at you on the other floor?" he asked.

"Depends what you mean by metaphor," Zaf replied ambiguously.

"Take any desk." Zoe was scrambling to change her boots for a scuffed pair of heels. "Just try not to make a mess."

Behind her, Danny made a strange snorting sound and then picked up the phone and dialled a rapid series of numbers without looking at the keypad. "Hello, Mr Pot? It's Mr Kettle – yeah, that's right, the black guy."

Zoe rolled her eyes elaborately and sighed through her teeth. Jo failed to suppress a giggle.

"Right, well then. I'm sure you'll settle in quickly. Things can't be too different from your old section."

Jo looked at Zaf, and Zaf spread his hands, as if to say that he couldn't have put it any better himself.


End file.
